


Sleeping with the Enemy

by felineranger



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Dubious Consent, Evil!Lister, F/M, M/M, Mentions Child Abuse, Mentions underage sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:23:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1418280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felineranger/pseuds/felineranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at what happened on Starbug during the events of Last Human when Lister's other self stole his life onboard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            Lister’s other self staggered through the airlock onto Starbug. He allowed himself the briefest glance at his welcoming committee to assess the situation ( _yeah_ , _the usual suspects_ ), then collapsed to his knees with a cry of pain that he didn’t need to fake. His hands and feet were glowing balls of searing agony. _Let’s see what the status quo is, shall we?_

Kochanski and Kryten got there first, immediately either side of him, cooing concern and dismay. “Baby, what happened?” Kochanski asked, stroking his hair while Kryten assessed his wounds. _Baby, huh?_    “He attacked me,” he croaked out, “The guy’s crazy. One moment everything was fine, the next he just flipped out. He shoved me into the fire, tried to burn me alive.”

“Oh my god.”

“Where is he now?” Rimmer asked anxiously. Lister managed to hold back from rolling his eyes. Same old Rimmer then.

“He’s...dead.” he whispered, with just the slightest catch in his voice. “I didn’t mean to. But he was holding me down in the flames. It hurt so much, I panicked. The shovel was right there. I just grabbed it and swung. I only meant to knock him out...I swear...” he choked out a sob. Kriss quickly pulled him tight against her and shushed him,

“It’s okay,” she said, “Any one of us would have done the same. It’s not your fault.”

“Sir,” Kryten interrupted, “we need to get you to the medi-bay. Your injuries need urgent attention. Can you walk?” Gingerly, Lister tried to flex his toes and the searing pain made him quake. “I don’t think so,” he said through gritted teeth, holding back a scream.

“Rimmer,” Kochanski urged, “Help Kryten carry him. Cat and I need to get us off this damn rock.” For a moment Rimmer looked like he was going to argue, maybe even just out of habit, but either the pain on Lister’s face or the formidable look on Kochanski’s stopped him. He stepped up without complaint. Kochanski bent down and kissed Lister’s forehead, “I’ll be with you as soon as we’re clear of this place, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispered, injecting as much bravely concealed pain into his voice as he could. She gave him a last look of anxious love and...was that a hint of guilt there?...before running to the cockpit. _Interesting...._

Between them, Rimmer and Kryten manhandled him to the medi-bay. It took all of Lister’s self-restraint not to scream his most creative obscenities at them with every jolt, but he managed to hold back. Soon enough he was lying on the hard narrow bed with sweet morphine flowing like liquid silver through his veins while Kryten slathered cool healing ointment over his burning limbs. He allowed himself to relax slightly and started to drift off. The breakout from Cyberia, the fight with his other self, had all been fuelled by sheer adrenaline. After four months trapped in the deep sleep of Cyberhell his body was weak, his muscles wasted. He was drained.

At one point he opened his eyes and saw Rimmer hovering by his side. Hazy from exhaustion and morphine he asked bluntly, “Why are you still here?”

Rimmer shifted uncomfortably, “Just keeping an eye on you until Kriss turns up. She’ll be cross if I don’t.”

“She’s my girlfriend now,” Lister remarked, still fighting to keep his eyelids open.

“Um, yes,” Rimmer replied, “Yes, she is.”

“Mine,” he repeated softly. He thought briefly of his own dimension, of how inseparable Rimmer and Kochanski had been, and wondered what had been different to change things here. “How does that make you feel?” he asked curiously. Rimmer shifted uncomfortably, “What do you mean?”

“Seeing us together. Me and her.”

“Erm...I don’t quite know what you want me to say,” Rimmer said awkwardly, “I mean, it’s not like I _watch_ the two of you together. Wait! That came out wrong! I mean, I don’t notice...Look, you two just _are_ , that’s all.”

“Aren’t you jealous?”

“Jealous of what?” Kochanski wavered into view beside Rimmer.

“Nothing,” Rimmer said quickly, “He’s just doped up, that’s all.”

“Poor baby,” she leaned over him, “Sleep now. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” Lister smiled to himself as he closed his eyes, “I think you’re right.”

           

Over the next few days as he recovered, he began to familiarise himself more with his surroundings. Starbug was exactly the same in layout, there were no surprises there but, when he’d moved from the medi-bay to continue recuperating in the quarters his other self shared with Kochanski, that had been an eye-opener. The room was clean for a start. In his own dimension, although Kryten had managed to keep his quarters sanitary, he had long ago given up trying to keep them tidy. Although there were signs of his other self here - bike magazines piled in one corner, a tangle of wires and circuit boards pushed to one side of the table, stray socks scattered around the laundry basket - they were fighting a losing battle. Between them, Kryten and Kochanski seemed to have done a good job containing this Lister’s innate slobbiness. If you stayed away from the laundry basket, this room actually smelled quite pleasant.

He’d spent a long time staring at the pictures scattered around the room. Images of the happy couple interspersed with candid polaroids of the rest of the crew, even one or two of Rimmer with his dorky smile. Something about it both amused and irritated him. In his dimension things had obviously been different. Rimmer and Kochanski had been the heart of that little group and although he’d been content enough to play along with the whole ‘happy families’ charade, he’d always stood slightly apart from the rest of them. He was different and they’d all known it, even though they tried to ignore it. It never bothered him. He didn’t really give a crap about any of them and didn’t care whether or not they gave a crap about him, but he needed them to trust him. And they had. Right up until he’d pulled the trigger. Suddenly finding himself at the centre of the happy family, finding that he was now the beating heart that held it together, was weird. But it was also exhilarating. The power...the trust....

He looked at a photo of his other self, at the happy beaming smile he knew how to emulate so well, and smirked to himself. _You fool_ , he thought, _you had it all. You had them all in the palm of your hand. If only you’d had a brain to go with all that heart._

At that point Kochanski had walked in with his breakfast and he’d turned to her with that exact same smile. _Too bad, kid. Nice guys always finish last._

 

At one point during his bedrest, Rimmer came to visit. “How are you doing?” he asked sheepishly.

“Okay,” Lister shrugged, “It still hurts like hell but I’m getting there.”

“Look, I have something to tell you.”

“Okay.”

“I know this probably won’t come as a surprise. But I needed to get it off my chest.”

“Okaaaaay...” Lister said again, more cautiously. _Where are we going with this, I wonder?_

Rimmer took a deep breath. “I’m not really allergic to parachutes. I made it up to get out of going in there with you.” Lister snorted with laughter. _Typical. What did Kochanski ever see in this weasel?_    “Don’t laugh! I’m baring my soul here!”

“Rimmer, did you honestly think anyone was going to fall for that bullsmeg?”

“Look, whatever. I’m a coward, I’m a rodent. I just wanted to set the record straight, that’s all,” Rimmer said grumpily.

“Why? It hardly matters now, does it?”

“I just wanted you to know...I’m sorry.”

“You too?” He’d already been through Kochanski’s tortured apology. What was wrong with everyone on this ship? Why did everyone want to talk about their damn feelings? It was like living in a sitcom.

“I know it’s too late and, like you say, it doesn’t matter now. But maybe if I had been brave enough, if I hadn’t made you go in there alone...” he trailed off. Lister narrowed his eyes curiously, “Then what?” Rimmer looked up at him, guilt shining in his eyes as he looked at Lister.

“Then maybe this wouldn’t have happened to you.”

            Lister looked at those eyes and saw something more than guilt. And then something else came back to him; the flustered panic in Rimmer’s voice when he’d asked him how it felt to see him with Kochanski; the fear...and shame...that had flashed across his face when he’d spluttered out ‘It’s not like I _watch_ you two together’. Lister had to fight to keep the smile from spreading over his face. _Rimsy, you dirty, dirty boy._ _So that’s how it is. Oh, this is just too precious._

He assumed his most sweet, benevolent expression, “C’mon, man. Don’t say that. This isn’t your fault.”

“I don’t know. You know me, I’m no good in a fight. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference. But still...” Lister reached over and put a hand on his knee, saw him flinch at the touch, and then stare at the hand longingly. He tried not to laugh out loud. How could this be so easy? “Rimmer,” he said tenderly, “It wouldn’t have changed a damn thing.” _Except that right now you’d be lying under a sand dune right next to loverboy_ , he sneered internally. _But maybe that’s how you would have wanted it._

            Red-faced, Rimmer scrambled back from his touch and got to his feet. “Well, there’s no point brooding about it now. I just wanted you to know the truth.”

“Thanks,” Lister said softly, “I appreciate it.” He waited until Rimmer was almost out of the door then called to him. “Hey. Rimmer?” He turned, his cheeks still rosy. “Yes?”

“You don’t have to apologise for being who you are. Not to me.” He saw Rimmer struggle for a response and fail.

“I hope you feel better soon,” he said limply, then fled the room.

            Lister leaned back against his pillow. And grinned.


	2. Chapter 2

            As his injuries gradually healed, Lister found himself getting increasingly frustrated. Not only at the slow speed of his recovery, but with this whole place. Playing Mr Nice Guy, twenty four-seven, was beginning to grate. At least on the odd occasions when he let his cheerful demeanour slip, he could blame it on the pain in his hands and feet. He kept reminding himself that he only needed to stick this gig out until they reached the Mayflower, at which point he could ditch this love-in. He was starting to consider putting a bullet through each of these idiots on his way out, just on principle.

           Kochanski in particular was starting to get on his nerves. She always seemed to be fussing around him, touching him, wanting to hug and hold hands. He’d never found relationships easy. Women were too needy, wanted too much from him. He’d thought once upon a time that men might be easier but quickly found that, although it tended to take longer to come to the surface, men often weren’t much better. Sometimes worse. He’d never been in love, but he’d found it alarmingly easy to make other people fall in love with him.

            He found himself remembering Lise Yates. Case in point. Oh, how that woman had loved him. She’d swallowed so many ridiculous lies that he’d considered bashing her head in occasionally, just to check if there was actually anything inside that dumb skull. Even when she’d found the gun, the final straw that finally made her kick him out, she still hadn’t gone to the police. And she’d wept as she slammed the door behind him. But there you had it. People were stupid. They believed what they wanted to. They’d believe almost anything you said, if you told them what they wanted to hear.

It didn’t hurt to be good in bed either. Lister was. He made a point of it. If you couldn’t make someone love you, you could still make them want you. Apparently really good lays were few and far between out there, because people would go almost as far for someone who could make them see stars as they would for someone they loved.

He’d banged Kochanski a couple of times since he’d been here, more out of curiosity than anything else. There was no denying the girl was a looker and she had that whole scrappy, feisty thing going on, but she’d been nothing spectacular in the sack. She’d enjoyed herself, he’d made sure of that, but after the first time they’d fucked he thought she’d looked at him a little strangely for a day or two. He wondered what his other self had been like in bed, if he’d given himself away by being _too_ good. It would have been interesting to find out. Maybe he’d acted too quickly killing the bastard, maybe he should have tried seducing him instead. What would that have been like? Fucking himself? A photo caught his eye of Lister with Kochanski in his arms and he’d shaken the thought away. Nah, forget it. The stupid jerk would have probably wanted to cuddle afterwards.

If he did have one regret about killing him, it was lack of information. There was a lot he didn’t know about this dimension, this version of his old crew, but still more he didn’t know about his other self. He found himself pondering now and then how they’d become so different. Given that they’d ended up in the same place, with the same people, how diverse could their paths have been? How had he become so sappy? How had he turned into a guy who would cross the galaxy risking everything, even his life, for someone he’d never met, just on the sentimental basis that they shared a face? Breaking into Cyberia? There was nothing and no-one that Lister would have been willing to pull that shit for, not even family. Smeg, he would have paid good money to have his adoptive ‘parents’ thrown into Cyberhell for perpetuity.

He’d run away at sixteen, determined never to take another beating, taking with him one of Old Prune Face’s jewellery boxes and a fair amount of the family silver, along with some cash he’d scraped together himself. It would be months before the crazy bitch even missed the goods and he considered he was owed something for ten years worth of bruises.

He’d done alright by himself. He was a survivor by nature and he’d got by however he could. When the lawyer had turned up shortly before his 25th birthday (Lister had never understood how the man had managed to track him down but he had) informing him that Tom and Beth Thornton were now both deceased and that as their adopted son he had inherited their considerable estate, he had thrown a party.

He’d sold the house and all its contents and spent the next few months on a more or less constant bender. The day after his birthday he’d woken up on Mimas with no memory of the night before, no ID, and no way to access any of the now severely depleted funds in his bank account back on earth. Joining the space corps had been the only way home. As he’d stared out of the shuttle window on his way towards Red Dwarf, it occurred to him that it was just typical of his dear old mum and dad to have managed to screw up his life even in death.

This dimension’s stupid Lister had probably had perfect apple-pie parents who sang him to sleep, gave him milk and cookies after school and took him to boy scout meetings. He’d probably never spent a long afternoon fishing condoms out of the local canal because he was too afraid to go home, never had the other kids snigger behind his back because his dad was in prison. Never been expelled from school because his mum went apeshit in the head-teacher’s office after he was caught fighting. He’d never had to fight to survive and so he’d never become strong. Well, he might have got the milk and cookies but he’d also ultimately got his skull cracked open, so who was the real winner here?

 

The only thing keeping Lister sane on this stupid ship at the moment was Rimmer. The moron had obviously been in love with him - at least, the _other_ him – for pretty much forever. It was there in every glance, every snipe, every dirty look at Kochanksi, but nobody else on this crate seemed to be aware of it. He’d found a reliable source of entertainment by torturing the guy. A little tease here, a little touch there, throwing him the odd tender moment when they were alone and watching his face contort as he tried to decipher whether it really _meant_ something. Despite all the insults and complaints Rimmer threw at him, all Lister had to do was fake pain in his wounds (and that required no acting whatsoever, the burns were still raw) and Rimmer, obviously still wracked with guilt, was ready to do whatever Lister asked of him. Hell, all he had to do was wince and they were _all_ there, wanting to help, wanting to make it better. He wondered if his other self had ever realised what power he had over this little group of worshippers. Had the idiot ever understood just how much he was loved?

Well, it didn’t matter. The simpering fools were useful but they weren’t nearly as amusing as Rimmer was. It was almost going to be a shame to kill him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Finally they’d agreed to go into deep sleep for the rest of the journey to the Mayflower. It was a relief in some ways but, the night before they were due to shut down, Lister was restless. Going into any form of hibernation made him edgy, ever since the accident. After his stint in Cyberia this hadn’t improved. He knew it was necessary but the thought of it made him itch. “Are you okay?” Kochanski asked eventually, once his tossing and turning became too much, “You don’t normally squirm this much.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, “Just sore.”

“I’ll fetch you some painkillers,” she offered, starting to pull back the blanket.

“No,” Lister rolled out of bed, “I’ll go.”

“Are you sure? You don’t want to make it worse.”

“It’s fine. I don’t think I’m ready to sleep yet anyway.”

“Okay, if you insist...” she was already starting to drift back to sleep.

            Lister padded to the mid-section and pulled out the first aid kit but, instead of pain killers, he pulled out the medicinal alcohol and took a swig. He hadn’t had a drink in too long and he needed to steady his nerves. At least this ridiculous little play was almost at an end, he told himself. When he woke up from deep sleep they’d be at the Mayflower and he could get the smeg out of here. He took another deep swig then spun the cap back on and started to head back to his room.

            As he passed Rimmer’s quarters, he saw the door open and the light on. This might be a fun diversion for a few minutes. He wandered in and leaned against the doorframe. “Hey. You still up too?”

“Yes,” Rimmer was at the table, going through a checklist, “Just making sure everything is tickety-boo for tomorrow.”

“Is it?”

“Just about. Why are you up?”

            Lister smiled sadly and held up one hand, like an animal raising an injured paw. As always, Rimmer looked pained. “Still bad?”

“It’s okay. I just needed a little something to help me sleep.”

“You know, we can make an adjustment to your deep sleep programme so that you keep healing while we’re under. When you wake up, you should be good as new.”

“Well, that’s something.”

            He saw Rimmer’s eyes travelling up and down his body as he lounged in the doorway. He knew that look. Lister had been young and far from innocent when he’d stumbled on an interesting fact about himself. While there were any number of girls who’d look past him because he wasn’t tall enough or buff enough, there were also a surprising number of men to whom his small stature and cherubic face seemed to be overwhelmingly irresistible. He’d been fifteen years old when the first guy had sidled up to him outside the pub he’d just been unceremoniously kicked out of, promising to buy him cigarettes and alcohol in return for a few favours. Lister, no fool even at that tender age, had taken the proffered goodies and then also extracted fifty quid out of the perv by threatening to tell the police everything that had just transpired in the back of his car. He’d sold most of the cigarettes and booze onto mates and made a tidy profit.

            Over the next year or so, he’d learned well how to recognise that look and, once he’d realised just how profitable it could be, how to exploit it. Sex meant nothing to him, it never had. But, if you were good at it, there were all kinds of perks and opportunities to be had. In just over a year, with a little help from Mommy Dearest’s diamonds, he had made enough to take off.

            Now, with Rimmer sat there mentally undressing him with a lack of subtlety that Lister had not seen in many years, he wondered if it was time to dust off some of those old skills. Why the hell not? They’d all be going into deep sleep tomorrow and after that, Lister was outta here. It sure beat spending the night fidgeting next to Kochanski.

            “Hey,” he said softly, ambling into the room and perching on the table in front of Rimmer, “Can you do something for me?”

“Okay,” Rimmer said blankly.

“Could you give me a back rub? I’m so _stiff_.”

“A what?” Rimmer asked, his eyes immediately widening.

“C’mon, man,” Lister asked pitifully, “I’m really achy.”

“Isn’t that something Kriss could deal with?” Rimmer was actually sweating. This was hilarious.

“She’s tried,” Lister told him earnestly, “But it’s no good. I need someone with stronger hands.”

“Well, what about Kryten?”

“His fingers are too hard and pointy. It hurts.”

“Cat?”

“Claws.”

“Look, I’ve never given a massage in my life,” Rimmer blathered, “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“It’s not rocket science, guy,” Lister teased, “Just do what feels right.” Rimmer swallowed so hard that Lister actually heard the gulp. “Please,” he wheedled, “I’ll never get to sleep otherwise.”

“Oh, dammit all to hell. Alright! I’ll have a go.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you.”

            Rimmer flexed his fingers anxiously, “So...how do I...how do we...do this?”

Lister slipped off the table and dropped lightly into Rimmer’s lap, perching just on his knees. “There we go.”

“Oh. Okay. So, I suppose I just...” Rimmer reached up and put his hands awkwardly on Lister’s shoulders.

“See, you’re a natural,” Lister told him playfully, “Now all you have to do is squeeze.”

            After the initial awkwardness, it turned out Rimmer wasn’t a half bad masseuse. Maybe it was down to all the practice the guy had had pleasuring himself, but he certainly had the firm but gentle thing down. Lister found himself rather enjoying the experience as Rimmer’s fingers kneaded his neck and shoulders. Little by little, he edged himself back into Rimmer’s lap, reclining against his chest, making small encouraging sounds of pleasure. He could feel Rimmer’s movements getting bolder, could sense his breathing quickening. When the moment felt right, he shifted his hips and slid himself right onto Rimmer’s crotch, then gasped in completely fake surprise at what he knew he would feel there.

            Rimmer was instantly on his feet, almost knocking Lister to the floor. “Woah! Steady!” Lister complained, “Talk about killing the mood!”

“Do not make fun of me!” Rimmer snarled, “This was a stupid idea!”

“Hey, calm down,” Lister soothed, “It’s ok.” He caught Rimmer’s eye and looked downwards pointedly, “Me too.” He glanced up again flirtatiously, “Does that make it easier for you to admit this was nice?”

“This is...You are...”

“I’m what?”

“You’re with Kochanski!”

“Yes. But here I am in your room.”

“Is this a joke?” Rimmer asked, his voice quavering.

“No.” Lister stepped forward, “I want this. I didn’t know it for a long time. But now I do. I want you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That night in the desert,” Lister moved close to him, close enough to share body heat, “When I was burning, when I thought I was going to die, I thought of you. Not her.”

            He saw Rimmer’s eyes glow with emotion, wanting so badly to believe. _So tell him what he wants to hear._ “I tried to tell you,” he went on, “When I made it back. Don’t you remember?”

“Remember?” Rimmer looked perplexed, “No. No, I...”

“In the medi-bay. When you were watching over me. I asked you how you felt. I asked if you were jealous of me and Kriss.”

“Oh...that.” Rimmer looked awestruck.

“Yeah, smeghead, _that_. Didn’t you understand what I was trying to tell you?”

“I still don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me!” Rimmer wailed.

            Lister reached up and, without a word, pulled Rimmer down into a long, lingering kiss. “Do you understand now?” he whispered.

 

            Everything that came after that was like slicing through warm butter. Easy, but still oh so satisfying. The desperate, hungry kisses. The swift, careless undressing. The hot, feverish fucking; so much more intense, so much more _real_ than his tepid trysts with Kochanski. Rimmer _needed_ this. Needed _him,_ or at least this body, this face, so profoundly. When the clumsiness and inexperience had become irritating, he’d taken charge. Rolled over and straddled Rimmer’s hips, then eased down slowly onto that eager needy cock and done things he hadn’t done for free in over three million years, but it was worth it for the look on the stupid git’s face. He should have filmed this whole freaking performance.

            At one point he’d glanced around and noticed the door was still wide open. He had a momentary stab of panic ( _stupid, careless, reckless_ ) but it quickly turned into a rush of heady elation. So what? A little bit of risk added spice to life and imagine Kochanski’s face if she came in now and saw this. Maybe he could even get the prissy bitch to join in. The thought almost sent him over the edge but he held out just long enough to make Rimmer’s face go almost the same colour as that stupid red uniform he used to wear, before letting himself go.

            Once he’d got his breath back, he climbed off of Rimmer, giving him a swift kiss as he did so. “Wow. That was fun.”

“Fun,” Rimmer panted in agreement, gazing up at him adoringly.

“But now I really have to get out of here.”

“Out? Wait. What?” Rimmer’s expression went from blissfully dazed to confused as Lister scampered off the bed and started pulling his clothes back on.

“Well, I can’t very well stay in here, can I?” Lister teased.

“You said...” Lister cut him off with a last firm kiss.

“Not a word to Kriss,” he warned, “It would break her heart.”

“But...!”

“Goodnight!” He scurried out of the door and let it whoosh shut behind him.

 


	4. Chapter 4

            When he at last crawled back into bed beside Kochanski he was already berating himself. He shouldn’t have had that booze. It always did this to him, made him stupid and reckless. It had been an idiotic, pointless risk to take when he was so close to the finish line. He thought he could rely on Rimmer’s natural cowardice not to announce to everyone at breakfast tomorrow that Lister had dropped in and rocked his world rodeo-style, but there was a chance he’d pushed the smeghead too far. Would even Rimmer draw the line at being used and then brushed-off in such a manner? Well, he’d find out tomorrow.

Kriss rolled over and put an arm around him, “Babe?” she mumbled, “You’re all hot and sweaty. Are you feeling ok?”

“I’m fine,” he whispered, “Go back to sleep.”

The next morning, Rimmer’s eyes followed him around like a hungry dog waiting to be fed. But he said nothing. Lister allowed himself to relax, and as Kryten sealed him into the deep sleep unit, he threw Rimmer a wink over the droid’s head. _I knew you wouldn’t tell on me_ , he thought smugly. _I’m far too pretty._

Much later, when the rest of the crew stumbled out of deep sleep to find the ship hurtling towards destruction and Kryten explaining that actually they’d had the wrong Lister all along, Kochanski wasn’t entirely surprised.         

She’d known, somewhere deep down, that something wasn’t right. She’d tried to tell herself it was just shock, trauma, depression. It would have been reasonable after what he’d been through. But the night she’d gone to him, done the things she’d always done to bring him out of his occasional bleak moods, something had been different. The gentleness had been there, the softness in his eyes and his voice; but something else was missing. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust had been considered. Calculated. It had worked, oh smeg, _yes_ , it had worked. But now she understood what had felt so wrong. He’d had to think about it. Dave, _her_ Dave, never did. For him, sex happened as naturally as breathing. When she finally saw him again, standing at the bottom of Starbug’s ramp, dusty and dirty but still standing and somehow, against all the odds, still smiling, she flung herself into his arms. And it was like breathing again.

 

Rimmer took Kryten’s news a little differently. He didn’t know what to believe. _It wasn’t him. It was never really him._ And in one way that made sense, because he knew Dave Lister loved Kristine Kochanski with every ounce of his being and it had been pathetic for him to believe, even for a moment, that he could ever feel that way about him. But it _still_ didn’t make sense because, _why?_    Why would Lister’s other self have done this? What did he possibly have to gain?

Later on, when he looked down the ramp at Lister and Kochanski rolling on the ground together, oblivious to everyone and everything else around them for a few brief moments, he thought he understood. _He just wanted you to know what it was like_ , he realised, _to have a taste of something that could never, ever be yours. He wanted you to have hope, so that he could shatter it._

When Lister finally came running to him, dragging the tall, strange man behind him and gabbling excitedly, Rimmer wasn’t listening. He wanted to throw Lister to the ground, do all the things that Kochanski had just done, and show him that he was here and that he cared too. And that he’d learned a few things while he was gone. But he couldn’t. And he’d never be able to.

A few hours later the real truth hit him. Lister’s other self had toyed with him, manipulated him, even fucked him, because he needed Rimmer to love Dave Lister. He needed Rimmer to be so hopelessly, helplessly in love that even now, in this situation, even to save his own _son_ , he would hesitate before pointing a gun at that face. And it had worked.

Which was why now, as Rimmer strapped on the astro-stripper and prepared to go into battle to save both his son and the man he loved, he was so determined to kill the bastard.


End file.
